#alt!blackreader

What are the odds that your favorite dry cleaner gets shut down by the GCPD for money laundering?

And just your luck, your favorite pair of perfectly ripped black jeans are being held as evidence. If you didn’t get them back, you swear you’ll retaliate with violence.

The whole ordeal left you in a sour mood as you trecked to the shady laundry mat to wash your clothes for the week. The late hour guaranteed the place wouldn’t be crowded but this was Gotham, and safety was as nonexistent as water in a desert.

You stepped inside and scanned the room. A lady asleep by the dryers and a couple packing their clothes into baskets, preparing to leave. Near solitude. It was almost too good to be true.

You set to work adding in clothes, soap and softener, while being aware of your surroundings. An hour later the door opened with new arrivals. You didn’t like the guy that walked in with a smug grin and a single bag of laundry.

He leered at you the entire time and you were ready to call it quits when a familiar shade of green hair flooded your vision. When did he get here?

You kept meeting this guy everywhere, it had to be fate! If only he was more sociable and told you his name—but you kinda liked the mystery. Today he wore headphones and a signature frown as he shoved a sea of black into the washing machine. Funny, he used the same brand of detergent as you.

Taste in music wasn’t the only thing you two had in common. Sensing your gaze, Joker looked up. His eyes widened just a fraction before they darted away.

You tried not to let his rejection get to you but.. yeah. It kinda did. You went back to folding towels overthinking that entire interaction.

But you couldn’t have a moment of peace because the creepy guy from earlier got tired of staring and now wanted to talk. You tried to ignore his harassment, but he invaded your personal space by touching your arm. “Don’t touch me.”

“Aww, don’t be like that darling. I’m just being polite.”

This was him being polite?! You didn’t want to see his rude behavior. Before you could tell him off, your green-eyed hero swopped in and escorted the guy straight out of the laundry mat.

It happened so fast you didn’t have time to react. No one else in the vicinity batted an eye. Were you imagining things? Perhaps reading dark romance novels was messing with your head. All you could do was return to folding clothes and hope that everything was okay outside.

You were almost done with your last load when the sound of the door opening startled you from your thoughts.

The pestering rain did little to wash away the red on Joker’s hands. He made a point to stand next to you and, shockingly, begin to help fold your socks. You stared at him in awe.

This was your chance to talk to him! He was right there like an open invitation!

You nudged his side with a sly grin, “Did ya kill him in the alleyway or what?”

He was gone for quite some time—your dark mind imagined he beat up the creep and left him for dead. This was Gotham after all.

Still.. even if your crush was a textbook alternative guy: introverted and filled with despair, you could tell he was nothing but a softy. All emo guys were deep down. He probably wouldn’t harm a fly. Just your type.

You simply needed to break down his gloomy exterior before you sank your teeth in and claimed him.

You meant it as a joke, but Joker tensed up at your words.

“Did ya kill him in the alleyway or what?”

Was it that obvious? He thought he washed all the blood off in the rain before he came back in.

Joker didn’t mean to kill the guy but he couldn’t stand the way he lusted after at you all night making perverted gestures like groping the air near your body.

It wasn’t any of Joker’s business to intervene. He. didn’t. know. you. He should have just minded his own business like everyone else did. But he felt bad for doing nothing to help.

So when that guy touched you, Joker snapped.

Joker’s ‘heroic deed’ did earn him your attention and for that he was grateful. Joker didn’t have the guts to talk to you but he could stomach bashing a guy’s head in until it resembled a smashed pumpkin.

The Smashing Pumpkins. You really had good taste.

Joker liked the sound of your voice as you chimed off more music recs for him to try. All in all, it was nice to interact with someone for a change, even if Joker was staining your fuzzy socks with blood during the process.

Hopefully you wouldn’t mind. You were sick in the head just like Joker.

Gotham: a city that never sleeps and more importantly, a city of constant rain. Umbrella in hand, classic Docs shuffling along the cracked pavement, you were headed to your slice of nirvana.

The record store. They were making a comeback and the ‘cool kids’ aged like fine wine into nostalgic adults with plenty of adult money to spend. You heard the bell above the door jingle right as the smell of old leather, coffee, and cigarettes hit you full force.

It was an acquired scent, one that you embraced like an old friend. LegaCee’s been in business since records were invented. The owners passed down the shop and the adjacent recording studio throughout the generations to keep music alive.

It was more than just a record store; it was a historical site standing as a testament to music.

You were a devout customer—always stopping by after payday for an album and to listen to the local band performances held every Friday and Saturday nights.

Needless to say, if you were alternative and mad at the world, you knew about LegaCee’s. Popular enough to have a cult client base, but small enough that mainstream influencers didn’t have a clue about it, you always felt at home inside the smoke-filled store.

You cooed softly seeing the new arrival’s selection on display. Some local bands mixed in with underground artists, your manicured fingers were combing through the assortment in no time.

The hours always managed to tick away while you were in LegaCee’s.

A moody LP played on the overhead speakers as you browsed through the rock section in earnest. Your eyes widened seeing a title you’ve been hunting down for months, and you reached for it right as cold, metal clad fingers brushed against yours.

“Oh, I’m..” the rest of your words tapered off as twin orbs of jade pierced your soul.

Time stood still as the sound of teen angst faded into white noise. You found yourself caught in bubble with this handsome stranger as your center.

You boldly stared at the guy in awe. He possessed a beauty that was best kept a secret. A constellation of freckles across his hooked nose, pouty lips that never knew the concept of a smile. He pierced the corners of them (most likely to mask the scars on his cheek), and you followed the flash of silver up to his brows where another piercing adorned his face. And oh, his eyes.

You had never seen green eyes so vivid before.

The hue took your breath away, but the misery etched within tugged at your heartstrings. Dark, forest green hair fell on cue into his line of vision and you had the urge to push it away, just to feel how soft it was. Even damp from the rain you knew it was something to behold. You gravitated towards his melancholic aura like a lost soul adrift at sea.

He grew visibly uncomfortable the longer you stared and he cleared his throat—thus ending your art study.

You couldn’t bear to feel embarrassed. You had half a mind to thank him for his time.

“Go ahead.” He mumbled.

The words came as a shock. You heard him but the deep baritone of it had you near speechless. It took you a second to understand what he was saying.

“No! You touched it first.” you slid the vinyl from the display box and held it as a peace offering. “You should take it.” you stressed.

His eyes flickered from your easy-going smile to the record in your hands.

It was clearly used but Cee’s always verified vinyl’s before reselling them. Nothing but a few scratches and pops to enhance the niche record. Yeah, he wanted it, but it felt wrong to take it when you clearly wanted it more.

He saw how your eyes brightened earlier when you saw the label. Not like he was staring at you to notice! It’s just that you found the album first, fair and square.

He was not interested in you or the album. Joker knew when to cut his losses. “Nah, I.. I uh. I don’t deserve it.”

You watched in disbelief as he bolted from your side and out of the record store entirely. You were left scratching your head in confusion.

What just happened?

You tried to put the odd (but phenomenal) experience behind you. A week passed and you were itching to return to Cee’s to watch a local band perform.

You wore all black, ripped your fishnets, and cried until your eyeliner bled down your cheeks in the most dramatic way. This was your favorite Gotham based band; you had to show up and out!

The venue was a bit crowded, but you found a corner to call your own for the next two hours. The lights had yet to dim so people were mingling about before the set began. Right as you were pulling your phone out to check the time, someone bumped into from behind.

You had queued up a nasty remark until a flash of vivid green stole your breath again. “Hey! Wait!” you grabbed his flannel shirt, stopping him from fleeing the scene.

Tonight, your mystery man was dressed up. At least by hipster standards.

Baggy clothes, tasteful layers and.. was that a septum ring? That wasn’t there before.. You admired the accessories that accentuated his aesthetic. A black beanie (even if it did conceal his sick dye job) and gothic rings on his fingers.

You nodded at his 1-800-Antihero T-shirt. You loved that group.

“I didn’t catch your name.” it wasn’t your best icebreaker, but he didn’t give you much to stab at.

Complimenting his piercings felt too cliché and you wouldn’t dare strike up a conversation about the weather.

You weren’t that desperate. Wait..

He rolled his eyes but stuck around to grunt out a low, “Didn’t give one.”

Ohhhhkay..

A man of few words. You inclined your head, holding back a laugh. “Right. Well, I hit up Frost, the manager, yeah, he found a copy of the album we were both eyeing last Friday. He’s holding a copy at the register if ya wanna cop it.”

Another peace offering. You hoped that he accepted this one.

Instead Joker narrowed his eyes at you. Why were you striking up a conversation with him? A girl like you was way out of his league and even worse, you were going out of your way to be nice.

Personally reserving an album for him? Only VIP customers could do that, and you didn’t look the type.

Whoever let you out the house in that skimpy skirt and ridiculous fluffy boot combo should be shot executioner style. However, Joker did admire your unique sense of fashion.

He never liked normal.. and you clearly had the same outlook in life. Still, you shouldn’t be chummy with someone like him.

Joker didn’t know you, but he knew you deserved better than whatever he could give.

You frowned hearing his soft Thanks before he, once again, walked away.

You watched the back of his green hair disappear into the chanting crowd. The concert was starting yet you suddenly weren’t in such a headbanging mood.  

Just because Joker wears headphones doesn’t mean he isn’t aware of his surroundings.

He prefers heavy metal, the kind that makes old grannies croak over if they hear it. The lyrics are immoral and are literally being screamed into his ear. The bass alone can cause permanent hearing loss however Joker doesn’t mind.

It drowns out the day-to-day garble of Gotham City.

Why are so many people eager to strike up a conversation? Can’t they see Joker wants to be left alone?

Joker is not a sociable individual, and he even went out of his way to ensure he doesn’t look approachable to any bystanders.

His hair stays dyed dark green all year long and various facial piercings adorn his gloomy visage to really drive the message home; Do not talk to me.

He thought about getting tattoos, yet none resonated with him enough to commit. There wasn’t much to obsess over these days, so Joker never put any effort into trying. Caring about something required too much energy and he honestly can’t be bothered to try.

Joker keeps his head down, headphones on as he shuffles through life. Nothing more, nothing less.

Today wasn’t any different. Joker loitered around the house and noticed he didn’t have any milk. Great.

That meant a trip to the corner store aka… human interaction, something Joker avoids as much as possible.

It took him forever to look adequate for society’s suffocating standards and once he left his apartment, the doorman, the mail carrier, a neighbor, and some random old lady walking her dog just had to stop and say hello.

Then Joker looked like the bad guy for walking off without saying a word.

And that’s how he found himself walking into the local bodega caught in a state of chaos.

People were hiding behind cheap aisles of junk food; others were crouched on the floor—hands shielding their heads. Joker paid the scene little mind.

He boldly strolled past the chump waving a gun at the cashier and headed towards the row of refrigerators in the back. All he wanted was milk. None of this put the money in the bag mess.

The problem arose when Joker returned to the front and the robber pointed the gun at him.  

If only the guy would do Joker a favor and pull the trigger but when has Joker ever been lucky? Maybe someday..

Joker’s headphones were on full blast and the violent lyrics motivated him to bash the guy’s head in with the milk jug. Surprisingly, the plastic remained intact. Just a dent or two, really.

You and the other patrons watched in disbelief as Joker stepped over the unconscious robber to toss some cash onto the counter for his purchase.

“Keep the change.” Joker mumbled. He was long gone when the police arrived and started asking who the hero was.

You still didn’t know his name.